


Brown-eyed Blues (3/5)

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-03
Updated: 2002-02-03
Packaged: 2018-11-20 19:58:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11342217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: An odd and quirky romance that starts with a car accident and ends with a home invasion.





	Brown-eyed Blues (3/5)

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Brown-eyed Blues (3/5)

## Brown-eyed Blues (3/5)

#### by Ganymede

Title: Brown-eyed Blues (3/5)  
Author: Ganymede  
Feedback to:   
Author's Website:   
Status: Complete  
Category: Unclassified  
Pairing (Primary): Skinner/Krycek  
Pairing(s) (Secondary): Mulder/Krycek  
Crossover Fandom (if any):   
Crossover Info (if any):   
Other Pairing Info:   
Rating: NC-17  
Spoilers: Assume everything up to Season Eight (I'm living in denial, boys and girls)  
Permission to Archive:   
Series or Sequel/Prequel:   
Notes: Chapter 1- Battered and Bruised, and Chapter 5 -Breaking and Entering have already been posted and archived various places. In my usual style, I wrote the last chapter first, then the first chapter, then the rest about three months later.  
Warnings:   
Disclaimer: Krycek, Skinner, Mulder, and Scully belong to CC and 1013 productions. Jarod belongs to TNT. The Dalai Lama belongs to the world.  
Summary: An odd and quirky romance that starts with a car accident and ends with a home invasion.

* * *

Chapter 3 - Mulder's Tale Part 2 

Another morning, another shower. 

Walter is up and out of the house before most civilized people have hit the snooze button. 6 AM sees him in his Eagle Vision on the way to the office. 6 AM sees me still snoring on his couch. 

So, I have a religious aversion to sleeping on beds. So sue me. Anyways, this particular couch is Alex's usual perch during the day. It smells like him, which leads to some interesting dreams. 

Alex usually drifts downstairs by 7:30, 8 AM at the outside. From his demeanor, he's been awake for several hours already. Makes me wonder if Walter sends him back to the guest bedroom before departing for work. Very discrete, sir. Excellent subterfuge. 

A cup of coffee or two, a few obscene gestures, more criticism about my coffee, and off we go for our pre-shower ritual. Plastic bag over the casted arm, taped closed around his biceps. Waterproof bandages over the incision on his throat, the stitches, and the strapping tape holding his broken ribs in place. 

The first day, I tried doing the whole shower scene a la Skinner - standing outside the shower, bathing him. No dice. I got more water on the floor and me than on Alex. Took six towels to dry me off and restore the bathroom to some semblance of anal -retentive-ex-marine-standard-of-brain-surgery-on-the-floor-cleanliness. Then I had to wash and dry all the towels before Walter got home. Alex found the entire situation a source of endless mirth, pointing and laughing for hours. It's a good thing he can't talk. One rude comment, and I would have thrown him off the balcony. 

If the consequences for failure include being forced to do laundry, I succeed on the first try. The next day, I stripped down to my skivvies and jumped in the shower with Alex. 

Note to self - when showering with ex-Consortium assassins, do NOT wear boxers with little alien head smiley faces on them. I think Alex nearly busted a stitch or two laughing at me. 

We got into a routine pretty quick. Hair rinse, hair wash, bad joke, careful not to get any of the suds in his eyes when I ran my shampoo-laden fingers through his hair, washcloth soapy, obscene gesture on his part, back wash, legs wash, chest wash, hand him washcloth for the..ahem..other parts. Quick rinse, and we're out. 

Works like a well-oiled machine. 

OK, maybe a slightly greasy machine. I'm a big believer in the old rule : If it's stupid but it works, it ain't stupid. 

This works. 

That's how this whole trouble started, Your Honor. 

We were in the shower, his back to me, head arched, enjoying the sensation of me massaging the shampoo into his hair. I had found the spot he likes, scratching slightly above those pointy little ears of his, and he was doing his best imitation of a dog getting his chest rubbed, complete with involuntary leg kicking. I was making bad jokes about taking home strays and getting him fixed, and he was completely ignoring me. When I stopped to stretch my fingers, he kicked me in the shin. That's Alex's subtle way of saying, "Please continue." I got the hint. 

He tilted his head to the right, eyes closed, as I massaged and ran my fingers through the hair above his temples. His pointy ear was exposed, and relatively un-soapy. 

Lord, lead me not into temptation, for I can find it without any divine intervention. 

I couldn't resist. I just couldn't. If you could have seen him, Your Honor, you'd understand. I had been so good up to this point, honest. Nothing even slightly inappropriate, no matter what Scully's cold glares were telling me she was thinking. 

So, without further ado, I leaned over and nibbled on the top of his exposed ear. 

He tasted.good. Salty/spicy/clean. He smelled like shampoo and let out a tiny little gasp when I worked my way down to his earlobe. Suddenly, I wanted more. I wanted to get more than a strangled whimper out of him. I wanted to make his knees buckle. I wanted to feel his whole body tremble under my touch. I wanted. 

Fingers still tangled in his hair, I gently tugged his head further to one side, exposing a lovely column of neck and throat. He didn't fight, didn't protest, just made another of those little gasps that was doing such a good job of raising my blood pressure. 

My teeth followed the line of his jaw down. By the time I nipped at the curve of his chin, his eyes were closed, breath coming in pants through barely parted lips, and leaning heavily on me like he would fall without the support. His ass was pressed against my thighs, and I know he could feel the effect he was having on me. 

Then I realized that my hands and his hair were still saturated with shampoo. As much as I wanted to pound him into the fiberglass wall, first things first. 

I removed my hands from his hair and reached up to the showerhead, adjusting the flow. He blinked, blinked again, not firing on all thrusters. 

Alex, Alex, Alex, sex-stupid is such a good look on you. 

Then the light went on behind his eyes, and he threw a look at me that I can only describe as homicidal. The intent was way beyond clear. Stop now, and he'd kill me with a bottle of conditioner. I didn't have the heart to tell him that even he couldn't be properly intimidating with a head covered in white foam. 

Quick rinse, and we were out of the shower. 

Drying yourself off can be an experience all its own, when you've just spent the last several minutes rubbing up against a naked, wet, aroused assassin in the shower. Drying said assassin off is an exercise in self-control. The temptation to find out _exactly_ what kinds of noises he would make if I used my tongue on him..well, let's say I managed to impress myself with my restraint. 

There will be plenty of time for that particular experiment in a few minutes. First things first. 

First, get rid of all the bandages and plastic. 

It's a very good thing that Alex doesn't have much body hair. If he did, removing the medical tape that held the waterproof bandages in place would be a daily agony of pulling hair out by the roots. I'd worn enough hidden microphones and spent enough time in hospitals to want to avoid that little pain trip. I may be a bottom, but that type of pain ranks right up there with slamming your hand in the car door. 

I was trying to be good, your honor. Honest I was. Dropping little kisses along the line where I just yanked the tape off, tasting adhesive and Alex. I did the tracheotomy incision in his neck last. Routine. 

Alex was leaning up against the wall, arm loose at his side, neck arched, giving me better access to the bandages at the hollow of his throat. He had slipped into one of Walter's old bathrobes, a dark green terry one that lives on the hook on the back of the bathroom door. The taste of Alex's skin in my mouth, permeated by Walter's smell - I was doomed. Wearing nothing but a pair of soggy gray boxer shorts and a towel wrapped around my waist, my cock threatening to tear holes in the fabric. And Alex, standing just a few inches away, bathrobe barely closed around his waist, beautiful body exposed to my gaze, my touch. Wanting me. 

I wanted him. I wanted him dizzy and squirming under me, surrounding me. I wanted to make him clench, hear him cry out, feel him lose that steely Krycek control, just for a minute. I wanted him to watch me as I f*ck him. I wanted him to know every second that it's _my_ hand, _my_ mouth, _my_ cock that's doing this to him. Not Walter's. Mine. 

For a few moments, I wanted the illusion that Alex was mine. 

Oh, f*ck it. I bypassed his throat and went straight for his mouth. 

Gently, gently kissing, mindful of the broken jaw and the wires holding his bones in place. He tasted sweet, like coffee and Alex and need. I ran my tongue over his still-stitched lower lip, barely brushing my mouth over the bruises on his cheeks, his jaw, his chin. He hadn't moved, still leaning up against the wall, but his fingers were digging into the wallpaper, and his breathing was coming in little gasps. 

I slid down, nibbling at the vampire spot right below his earlobe, bracing my arms against the wall around him, surrounding him. Little lower, little lower, letting my tongue caress the notch of his throat, I could feel him trembling under me. 

Alex, by the time I'm done with you, you'll be doing a lot more than trembling. You won't be able to remember your own name. If Alex Krycek _is_ your real name. 

So pretty. Sweat and clean skin and need. Would the rest of him taste this intoxicating? Only one way to find out. 

Kissing down across his chest, gentle, so gentle across the vivid hued bruises, stark against the pale skin. Targeting a nipple, first teasing it with my tongue, then a gentle brush of teeth. Quick gasp, head thrashing back and forth, back arched, trying to rub up against me.Cat in heat.oh, definitely. A dangerous jungle cat, squirming and writhing. So the cat likes being petted, does he? How about if I pet him _here_? 

Chr*st. How long has it been since I've had my hand on another man's cock? Hard as teak, skin like velvet, hand slippery from shower water and pre-come, and those little keening cries he makes keep pooling at the base of my spine, headed directly for my cock. He's making my crazy, and I'm still wearing boxers and a towel. 

All his muscles that weren't tight to the point of shaking were limp instead. He was melting into the wall, only being supported by my arm around his neck and my hand between his legs. 

Bed. Now. Or I was going to spin him around and take him against the bathroom wall. Nice as that would be, it would be a little too athletic for someone in Alex's condition. 

I half-walked, half-dragged Alex out of the bathroom and down the short hallway to the first available bedroom. Skinner's bedroom. F*cking Daddy's boyfriend in Daddy's bed. So many dimensions of wrong here, I didn't know where to start the list. Somehow, knowing we were about to get body fluids all over Skinner's bed just made me hotter. 

Alex didn't seem to care, or maybe he was too far gone to notice. I'll go with option #2, Monty. Lying on his back, bathrobe barely on, legs spread, squirming and thrusting up into the air, cock purple and sticky with pre-come. 

Did I say pretty? Try gorgeous. Sex-god-gorgeous. Damaged and broken and dangerous and nobody as deadly as Alex Krycek should be allowed to make those sweet, helpless little noises when I touch him. Eyes open, glazed, staring off into nothing, as my mouth followed the treasure trail downward, nipping and sucking at his almost hairless stomach, the flat of his hips, carding through his pubic hair with my fingers, coming so close to touching his cock, but holding back. 

I was so damn close, and I was still wearing my boxers. If I licked that little jewel of pre-come off the tip of his cock, it would lead to other things, and this would be finished in a couple of seconds. I knew neither of us were going to last, but I also knew exactly where I wanted to be when the fireworks went off - buried deep inside him, with only a thin layer of latex separating us. 

Leaning over him, my chest hair tickling his nipples, cocks brushing into one another, setting off an avalanche of sparks. "Alex, I want to be inside you so bad it hurts. Let me." 

It took a second, then he was back 100% behind those cat-green eyes. Confused, uncertain. Like he was trying to translate the words from English into whatever language he spoke when his brain shut down. Either that or.or this was the first time anyone had ever asked beforehand. 

Did Skinner ask, Alex? Or did he just take? 

Would you even know how to say "no" if you wanted to? Was it ever an option, deciding you just plain weren't in the mood? Or was f*cking just another survival skill you'd learned during your short and dirty life? 

I realized that I knew absolutely nothing about Alex's life before his orbit intersected mine. I had rumors, educated guesses, and a long shot or two, but no hard facts. Would he even tell me if I asked? 

I was distracted from my reverie when Alex nudged me over on my back. Apparently I had been off in ponder-land too long, and he got tired of waiting. Even injured, he still moved with cat-like grace, so much controlled power in every motion, grinning the most mischievous grin I had seen since Dennis the Menace. Careful of his broken wrist, he started to peel off my towel and boxers, before I took over the job and quickly tossed the soggy clothing on the floor. 

Catching his glitter-bright green eyes. "I'll take that as a yes." 

Another evil grin, then I had an armful of squirmy, aroused assassin, rubbing his cock up against mine, fingernails across my side, making me hiss and arch, making him squirm even harder. Snarling. One of us was snarling, and I wasn't even sure who. The air in the room was getting much too thin - either that or his weight on top of me was interfering with my ability to breathe. 

It just wouldn't do good things for my reputation if I passed out _before_ I f*cked him. Gently, carefully, I rolled him over onto his side, lying on his truncated arm. He responded by throwing his casted arm around my waist and pulling me even closer, one leg draped over mine. Maximum skin contact. 

More snarling. Or maybe it was purring. 

Sweat and pre-come made our skin a smooth, frictionless slide -up and down and rubbing against every inch of exposed skin. One hand buried in his thick, silky hair, the other grabbing onto the headboard for dear life. No way in hell I'm going to last like this. From the way his thighs are trembling, neither will he. 

Long, slow arch, eyes clenched shut, every muscle in his body tensed and an explosion of sparks between us. Scalding heat burning my thighs, my stomach. 

Then the top of my head exploded. 

I think I screamed. I'm not sure. When I finally opened my eyes, he was leaning over me, watching me, unexpected expression on his face. It was somewhere between self-satisfied smirk and stunned disbelief. His eyes wandered downward, over my sweat-and-come-sticky body, to the sheets and blankets stained with bodily fluids and wet from shower water, air thick with musk and sex-smell. 

And I suppose you think I'm going to clean up this mess by myself? Try again, Alex. You are going to help me clean this mess up, or it will be both our asses on the line when His Royal Marine-ness gets home. 

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Ganymede 


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